


Bottle of Red

by CGotAnAccount



Series: Italian Restaurant [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, definitely not oblivious keith, definitely not serial killer shiro, tipsy keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 15:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17206271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: He'd like to think that he's gotten better over the years at being a functional adult and a decent husband – that maybe things don't slip by him like they used to.Things like understanding office cougars don't actually need help getting their coats on.Like when someone says they're fine but then sighs dramatically afterward they're probably not fine, Lance.Like this definitely human kidney floating in a pot of ice in his sink.





	Bottle of Red

Keith has been accused of being oblivious plenty of times in his life - between the missed social cues and overly blunt commentary he can't say it's entirely inaccurate. Pidge in particular made it a point to throw in his face at every opportunity just how long it took him to realize that Shiro wasn't handing out special hugs to everyone and that _just maybe_ they were on their way to becoming an item.

But he'd like to think that he's gotten better over the years at being a functional adult and a decent husband – that maybe things don't slip by him like they used to. Things like understanding office cougars don't actually need help getting their coats on. Like when someone says they're fine but then sighs dramatically afterward they're probably not fine, _Lance._

Like this definitely human kidney floating in a pot of ice in his sink.

It's an interesting feature of their kitchen, this kidney. He can't say that he expected it to be here when he got home, but he did leave the office early today. He can only hope that it isn't one of Shiro's themed dinner night shenanigans and he's going to have to stare at it and pretend to be hungry for some horror show he's concocted.

The ice bath is turning pinker by the minute as he stares at it.

At least it's fresh if it's going to be sitting in his house.

This honestly isn't the weirdest thing that Shiro has done, for a while he went through a phase where he must have been ordering skulls off the internet for some goth phase that Keith politely ignored out of love. Their bedroom had been the only safe haven from his hollow eyed collection as Shiro went about reselling some of the more unique versions along with some little bones he'd prettied up. Keith had tried to be supportive and asked about it once or twice, but Shiro had been obviously embarrassed and had gotten a little dodgy – and Keith was perfectly happy to never talk about it again.

After all, even perfect people like Shiro have a weird hobby or two.

Keith just hopes that he didn't get the kidney off the black market or something.

He turns with a sigh and a shrug, bending to rifle underneath the counter for his second favorite cast iron pot, since _someone_ put a kidney in his good one. He flicks on the stereo to an old jazz station and sashays to the sink. His stomach barely flops as he turns the tap on over the kidney and fills his own pot. The cast iron hits the stove with a thunk and he flicks the burner on, setting the water to boil as he grabs the spaghetti noodles, measuring out portions carefully because Shiro will definitely ask if it was a proper serving size...

The apron hanging on the oven door slings over his neck easily as he sways across the kitchen to their favorite bottle of wine, uncorked the night before and calling his name after the weirdness of his day following him home.

One quick glass later and Keith is feeling much more benevolent about the kidney in his sink.

Once the water is boiling he tosses in the spaghetti, stirring every so often as he pours sauce into a bowl and dumps a cup of wine into it before popping it into the microwave. Hunk would be so proud.

Leaning against the counter and listening to the cheerful hum and bubble of his efforts, Keith sips his second glass of wine and eyes the clock. It's still about an hour until Shiro would have expected him home in the first place, but Keith can't recall his husband saying anything about plans today that would keep him away from the house. He shrugs and downs the rest of his glass before considering his options for the next round. He could switch to a red blend, one of Shiro's favorites was just waiting to be uncorked, or he could wander down to the basement to try the new Sangria he saw Shiro bottling a few months ago. Keith had been duly impressed, Shiro hadn't shown much interest in vineyards or wine prior to that, but when Keith had come home to see him pouring it into jug a surrounded by lemons he was immediately intrigued. Shiro, ever modest, had blushed to his ears and scratched the back of his neck, stammering something about wanting to branch out in his creative pursuits as he grabbed an orange from the fridge and squeezed it into the jug with a strained smile – he had been so shy and cute that Keith had given him a pat on the shoulder and dropped it.

Surely it would be good by now...

Clomping footsteps from the direction of the basement stairs cut his musings short and remind him with a start that he never actually checked the garage for Shiro's car. It's easy to throw the microwaved sauce into the strained pasta and grab silverware as he waits to surprise his husband. Two plates come down from the cupboard to grace the table and a wineglass for Shiro follows shortly after – filled with the red blend, and some more for Keith as well. The table is set in a whirlwind and Keith can't help but lean back to admire his handiwork.

His brows furrow as he decides that the table is missing something - such hard work making spaghetti surely requires some sort of centerpiece.

And then it dawns on him.

What better way to tell your husband you love him unconditionally, strange hobbies and all?

His smile is particularly self-satisfied as he takes a fine crystal goblet and scoops it through the ice bath like a carny scooping goldfish at the fair. It almost looks like a Rosé with the pink hue and the ice cubes sparkling in the impromptu candle light. He places it between the two plates, dead center in the table and hurriedly scoops the meal onto the plate as the clomping footsteps finally begin to ascend.

Keith takes one last swig of his own glass and sets it down with flushed cheeks and a giggle before splaying his arms out in anticipation.

The basement handle turns.

Keith is beaming too hard to see properly as he does his best approximation of jazz hands.

“Ta-da!”

The clatter startles him.

Shiro stands at the top of the stairs when Keith's eyes snap fully open. His expression can only be described as 'deer in the headlights' and he might as well be catching flies as he stares slack-jawed at the table.

He's absolutely spattered in Sangria.

“Oh no!” Keith starts toward him arms outstretched but stops when Shiro flinches back. “Did you spill your Sangria?”

Shiro cocks his head in confusion before looking down at himself with a wince.

“Ah... yes...” He fidgets with his shirt before ducking down quickly and picking up what must've been his corkscrew. His smile is sheepish. “I was trying to surprise you.”

Keith's smile is as radiant as it is tipsy when he plops down into one of the dining room chairs, pushing the other out with his foot in invitation.

“That's okay Baby, I get to surprise you this time.”

He reaches for his wine glass again, nearly grabbing the kidney water in the process before giving it a playful tut and a scowl.

Shiro still hasn't moved.

“Takashi, are you going to let your dinner get cold?” Keith pouts across the room at him, dropping his face into his hand and fluttering his eyelashes. “I might not let you have dessert.”

That jolts Shiro into action as he mumbles an unintelligible reply and peels his filthy clothes off, disappearing briefly into their room before wandering back into the kitchen with a spill-free set.

“Thank you sweetheart, this looks delicious.” He eyeballs the centerpiece as he scoots his chair in and hooks their ankles together.

Keith catches the look and shoots him a sly smile.

“You like it?” He pokes the glass with the end of his fork and Shiro winces at the sound. “I found it and figured out your décor idea!”

Shiro clears his throat and takes a sip of wine.

“You sure got me this time...” His chuckle makes Keith beam through a mouthful of noodles.

They share amicable chatter over the meal and Shiro insists on cleaning up, scooping the plates into the sink and throwing the kidney back in the ice bath before turning around and pinning Keith with a heated stare.

“You said something about dessert?”

Keith's playful grin catches Shiro's lips in a swoop before he's pulling back with a funny look and licking at his lips.

“Hmm, you might want to add more orange to the Sangria.”

Shiro bites down his laughter and tugs Keith into the bedroom.

“I'll get right on that, Baby.” He nuzzles a kiss into Keith's hair and smiles down at his tipsy husband with his heart in his eyes... and someone else's spattered on his laundry.

 


End file.
